


Fighter

by VibraniumHeart



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Anxiety, Assault, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-08-16 19:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16501634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VibraniumHeart/pseuds/VibraniumHeart
Summary: After an assault leaves you with anxiety and PTSD your therapist suggests you learn to fight, to defend yourself. Your trainer is none other than the poster child for PTSD, Bucky Barnes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RubyRollup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyRollup/gifts).



> Hope I did this one justice! I'm trying very hard on the prompts I have received. For those waiting for Steve prompts check back tomorrow night and hopefully one will be up then. Please not I do not do them in the order received, just based solely on what comes out. Trust me when I say I don't want to try and force it. So be patient and bear with me! I want to make these perfect for y'all.

You gazed nauseously up at the imposing building, your keys clenched firmly between your fingers like claws. Though the city was in the midst of summer you could feel a cold sweat building over your skin. Anxiety crawled up your spine and into the back of your throat, your lunch threatening to make a reappearance. 

How long, exactly, you had been pacing before the building was unknown to you. Anticipating the difficult nature of the trip, thus arriving forty-five minutes ahead of schedule was only half the battle. Well, maybe a third. Another third was actually talking yourself into leaving the apartment you owned several blocks away.

Other than your weekly appointments with your therapist you rarely left. The graveyard of takeout boxes that often littered your apartment were testament to that fact. 

The final third of the battle was actually entering the building, though you hadn't managed that yet. You'd made it as far as the door, even had your fingers wrapped around the cool metal before you'd retreated back with your heart jack-hammering in your chest.

Inside, you knew, there were a slew of heroes and whoever worked for them as desk jockeys or assistants. Several dozens of floors full of people. God knows how many of them you would have to pass on your way. You took a deep breath and held it, taking tentative steps toward the door again. 

Again you faltered but, to your surprise, the door swung open. You reeled backwards, nearly tripping over your feet in your haste to retreat.

A tall, dark haired man emerged. His hands were up in surrender, one metal and one flesh, though he seemed to be slumping slightly--as if he were trying to make his large frame seem much smaller than it was.

His dark hair was pulled back into a bun, a few wayward strands falling into his storm cloud blue-gray eyes. "Been watching you pace on the cameras for half an hour, doll. Starting to make me anxious." His voice was deep and rich, a little husky, with a clear Brooklyn edge to it. 

There was no denying that he was gorgeous, but he was also rather large. It wouldn't take much at all for him to overpower you. Swallowing past the sharp edge in your throat you reminded yourself why you were here. 

You knew instantly who he was; other than being the winter soldier, Captain America's best friend, James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes he was also your trainer. 

Even that knowledge was not enough to make you relinquish your grip on your keys, however. "You're my trainer." You forced out. He nodded. "I'm Bucky. But you knew that." You nodded. "And you're Y/N." Another nod. 

He let his hands drop to his sides slowly so as not to startle you. "There's an elevator around the side. It'll take you to any floor in the building. Including the training room we'll be practicing in."

Your eyes flickered quickly to the side of the building and back. He hadn't moved. Not that you expected him to attack you in broad daylight. But he was much faster than you, you'd seen the footage. 

He gave you an apologetic smile. "Just need an access code. I can give you mine, and you can meet me in the training room and avoid anyone else. Or I will walk with you through the building if you prefer. Either way, no one will bother you." 

You mulled it over for a minute but you really didn't want to pass that many people if you didn't have to. "You can just give me your access code? To one of the most secure buildings, I would assume, in the world?"

He arched a dark brow slightly at that. "I didn't say I was supposed to, just that I would."

You narrowed your eyes at him slightly. "Won't you get in trouble for that?"

There was a small twitch at the corner of his lips, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. "My best friend is more American than a bald eagle on Abe Lincoln. I'm pretty sure I'm safe."

"Somehow, I don't think the paragon of virtue would want you sweeping your rule breaking under the rug of his image."

He snorted at that. "It's okay, he owes me one." 

At that you caved a little. "Alright, give me the access code. If anyone stops me or gets me in trouble I'm throwing you firmly under the bus." 

The smile didn't leave his face. "Fair enough. You want the 7th floor. Access code is 3276-8974." He had you repeat it twice before he was satisfied that you wouldn't forget it. 

He watched you walk around the side of the building before stepping back inside. Once inside the elevator you felt a small amount of relief wash over you.

When the sleek doors slid open to the training room you were somewhat surprised to find it empty. You knew for a fact the soldier would move faster than you and could have been waiting for you.

Instead, arriving first meant you had time to memorize the layout of the room and find the exits--a habit now deeply ingrained in you.

Noisy footsteps sounded outside the room a moment before he opened the door. He stepped in and far enough away from the door that you didn't feel trapped in. Again he seemed to be a little slumped and he kept his hands away from his pockets. 

He raised a dark brow at you again, as if he was just as surprised to find you standing there.

"Ready to begin?"

You took a look around at the training mats, treadmills, punching bags and various machines you didn't know the name of. Finally you released your keys from your fingers. Your fingers tingled with the rush of blood to them. Determination rolled stiffly up your spine. You had promised yourself you would at least try it. 

Mostly you were tired of living in fear, in anxiety, letting the scars not only remind you of what had happened but the powerlessness that came with it. That seemed to consume you in a thick cloud, leave a bitter tang in your mouth. For as much as it was tempting to hide yourself away forever it was intoxicating to imagine yourself unburdened by the weight of it.

You hoped even a fraction of the determination you felt could be seen in your eyes as you met his. Forcing the acidity of anxiety as far down as you could you cleared your throat. "Ready as I'll ever be."


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky took a deep breath. "Alright. We're gonna start with some basics." He moved closer to you slowly. "When you're here I want you to keep your hands wrapped. Do you know how to do that?"

You shook your head. "Haven't exactly been in a fair fight." He nodded. "Is it okay if I wrap them for you?"

When you hesitated to answer he spoke again, "Wrapping your hands is more to protect your hands. That, along with the gloves, will go a long way towards protecting your bones from breaking or the skin from tearing." 

Your brows furrowed together. "But they won't be wrapped in a real fight."

He nodded patiently. "No, but learning to throw a punch with them wrapped will help. People don't often expect the punch to hurt them as well. When you throw a punch, I want you to be prepared for the impact. We'll try it eventually without the wrappings, but I think it's best to start with."

Finally you relented, holding up your hands. "You're the expert, I guess." 

He moved to pick up a small bundle of wrapping. "For the record, you can say no. If at any point you're uncomfortable just say the word and we'll stop for the day, okay?" 

You nodded, feeling a little of the anxiety ebb out of your body. "Okay. Uhm...thanks, Bucky."

He lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. "I'm here to teach you to protect yourself. I can't do that if there isn’t a foundation of trust. But that takes time, too." 

And wasn't that just the way of everything? Time, time, time. Everything took time. Healing, learning, trusting. Before you knew it Bucky was before you with the wrappings.

Slowly, he took your right hand in his and began to wrap it slow enough for you to see how he was wrapping it. He was efficient and professional, focused on his task. He had both hands wrapped in just a few short minutes. "How's that feel? Not too tight?"

You shook your head. "No, it feels alright." He took a few steps back. "Before we put on the gloves I want to see how you would throw a punch. Do it slowly. Just aim for a spot in the air, hm?"

Feeling absolutely ridiculous, you did as he requested. Once, twice, three times before he stopped you.

"Widen your stance a little, and rotate your hips away from your target. Hands up to protect your face, elbows tucked in. You want to protect as much of your body as you can. Make sure your thumb is on the outside of your fist, over your knuckles." He paused while you adjusted. "Good. Now when you throw the punch make sure your wrist is straight. You wanna follow through with your body so it has the most impact. Like swinging a bat."

You concentrated on his directions and threw another slow punch. A second. A third. "Is that right? It feels pretty right."

He nodded, a small uptick at the corner of his mouth. "That's perfect. You're a natural. Ready to try hitting the bag with some gloves on?"

Once you had them on he had you move to the punching bags. He wasn't lying about the impact hurting you as well. It was more of a dull throb through the gloves. At the same time, however, it felt good. Made you feel powerful.

You hit the bag again and again and again. As you hit it there was a clear picture in your mind of the man who had attacked you. Rather than visualizing the attack itself you focused on picturing his face as you hit him repeatedly.

The way it would sound when your fist connected, the snack of flesh on flesh. His blood on your hands, his body beneath yours as you pummeled him into the earth.

You must have zoned out rather hard, as the touch to your shoulder shocked you like a bucket of ice water. Your body reacted instantly, your fist swinging out at your target. Too late, you realized it was Bucky.

He ducked agilely, avoiding contact with your fist. Again he raised his hands submissively. "Didn't mean to scare you." Slowly you came back to yourself, realizing you were covered in a sheen of sweat and your hands ached beneath the gloves. 

You swallowed tightly but he only offered you a cold bottle of water, and said nothing of your wayward fist or the way you had zoned out. 

Opening the water you chugged half of it down greedily. You appreciated that he hadn't drawn attention to what happened, but were at a loss for how to thank him.

Again he was the one to break the silence. "I think that's enough for one day. Same time next week okay?"

"Yeah, yeah that works." You pulled the gloves from your hands and began to unwrap your hands. Now that training was over you couldn't wait to get back home and throw yourself back into solitude. And into the shower.

It seemed to take forever to get back to your apartment but, once the deadbolt had been latched, you breathed a sigh of relief and stripped off your clothes. 

You let the water and soap wash away the sweat, exhaustion itching its way over you before you were even toweled dry. So you slipped quickly into your pajamas and slid into bed, sleep dragging you under.


	3. Chapter 3

Your next session with your therapist came and went, with her encouraging and congratulating you for following through on training with Bucky.

Even though you had met and trained with him before you still found yourself nervous for the next session. Your palms kept sweating all the way up the elevator, his access code saving you from having to cross anyone else once again.

And, again, you found yourself in the room first. He joined not much later, a little more relaxed than he'd been the first time. 

"Hey, Y/N. I'm glad you came back. You have a natural talent for it." 

You shrugged and dropped your bag to the floor. "If you say so. We doing the punches again?" 

Remembering how he had wrapped your hands you started toward the rolls of them. Bucky held up a hand, his lip caught between his teeth. "Actually, I was thinking we could work on your sense."

A frown pulled at the edges of your mouth. "My senses?"

Bucky nodded. "I mean if..." he stopped and sighed gently. His blue eyes were soft on yours. "In case something happens. With practice you can heighten your senses. Pick up things others can't."

Confusion rippled through you. "I'm not sure I'm following." 

He smiled a little tightly. "I mean being able to tell where an attacker might be, even if you can't see them. Or being able to smell them if you can't see them."

You arched a brow at him, a huff of a laugh escaping you. "Uhm, I know it's been a while for you...but regular humans don't have super soldier senses."

He echoed the laugh back to you. "I'm aware. But you can learn to strengthen your senses. Not to my level, of course, but the road to get there isn't one I would recommend anyway."

Curiosity pulled at you. "How did you get there? I mean..didn't the serum just do that part for you?"

His shoulders tensed for a fraction of a second. "No. It helped, but HYDRA always thought the best way was whatever one hurt the most. Whenever I was wrong or not quick enough, silent enough...well, that part I'm sure you can guess."

Guilt rolled through you. Of course he wouldn't want to share the details of his torture with you! What was wrong with you? 

Seeing the look on your face Bucky shook his head. "Don't apologise. It's okay to be curious. Human. But I don't want to frighten you." He sighed again. "But I also need you to trust me. I also know you asked in order to deflect."

He smiled knowingly. That was a habit of yours. Directing any attention away from yourself so that you could keep quiet. You shrugged. "Learned habit. What...what exactly did you have in mind?"

Bucky dropped his eyes to the floor. "See, that's the thing...I know you probably won't like it. But, I was thinking a blindfold. See if you can hear where I am."

Anxiety jolted through you, sweat prickling at the back of your neck. "You can move soundlessly." You scoffed, as if he were purposely trying to set you up.

He nodded. "I can. But I won't. Won't touch you, either." Your heart pounded painfully against your chest, your limbs feeling jittery and loose as you struggled to calm your instinctual panic.

"We don't have to. I'm not trying to push you, or make you uncomfortable."

But still your throat burned with the threat of bile, the room feeling too small all of a sudden. "Well you fucked that up!" You snapped, angry that he was seeing you so vulnerable at just the mention of a blindfold. Of the dark. Of merely pretending to be listening for an attack.

Bucky put his hands up and took a step back. "M'sorry. I shoulda known better." He swallowed and took another step back. "Your meds." He nodded at the bag you'd tossed to the floor. 

When you didn't move he took another step back, and another. "Please take your meds. I don't want you to pass out or have a heart attack because of me." 

You watched as he cursed himself inwardly. "I'm gonna step out, yeah? You wanna leave, I'm not gonna stop you. But if you want to stay, train another way, I'll be in the hall. Just...call...or don't."

With that he slipped out the door once more. As soon as you were alone you dove for the bag and all but ripped it open, dry swallowing your anxiety meds. You curled your knees into your chest, hugging them to your body. 

You hated yourself for getting so worked up so quickly, unable to think beyond the suggestion of the dark. Idly your fingers slipped beneath the collar of your shirt to trace the jagged scar beneath your collarbone. 

It was an ugly reminder of what could happen in the dark, unprepared and alone. Though it was also a reminder that you survived, that you weren't laying in an alley somewhere and bleeding out. 

As your racing heart calmed you couldn't help but berate yourself. The likelihood that an avenger, in their tower, would attack you was very slim. If Captain America himself deemed him good enough to be a hero it should have been good enough for you. 

But the problem was you didn't know enough about the super soldier, what kind of man he was. Only what he could do, and the terrible things he'd been made to do. 

It was powerful to note that he could have done almost anything while you panicked. It wouldn't have been hard to overpower you. Instead he had apologized and gave you the space to calm down.

Feeling exhausted from the plummet from adrenaline and fear to understanding you forced yourself up and onto a bench along the wall. 

"Bucky?" You called, rather quietly. Part of you was still curious how strong his hearing really was. The door opened a moment later, a sheepish look on his face. "Yeah?"

"I'm....sorry about that. Trust isn't something I have a lot of these days. It's like..in my head I know you wouldn't hurt me. I mean, unless you're luring me into trusting you just to make my skin into a lampshade. But my head it.."

You couldn't find the right words. He stepped further into room, rubbing the back of his neck. "Your head tells you that, no matter how small, there's always a risk. It tells you not to trust anyone. To never let anyone in. Hurt before you're hurt or, worst of all, hide yourself away so no one ever gets the chance to do it. Tells you not even to trust yourself, that you can't ever feel safe. Even alone."

Your stomach twisted at his words. It was exactly how you felt but, more than that, the look in his eyes said it was a feeling he knew all too well. "It gets better." He added lightly, attempting to break the heavy atmosphere. To sever the feeling of connection through tragedy. 

"I don't see how. That sounds so self absorbed. You went through worse and you made it. But I'm not that strong."

He scoffed at that. "It's not a competition, doll. I didn't crawl out myself. Steve mostly dragged me. And don't give me shit about the serum. It doesn't do a damned thing to make you stronger mentally. And you didn't leave. You chose to stay. Seems pretty ballsy to me."

It was your turn to try and break the awkward tension left in the absence of truths you so rarely shared. "Yeah, well, I didn't feel like passing out on the sidewalk. But I do think I've had enough for today."

He nodded. "Want me to get you a cab? Or I can take you home? Or you can stay here until you feel up to it. I'll call in some greasy Chinese food and eat it in the hall."

You couldn't help but feel a little better at his nervous rambling. "I'm starting to see why my therapist recommended you. How do you contact an avenger for that, though? It's not like you post flyers to advertise training with a hero."

Bucky frowned lightly. "She didn't tell you? She was my therapist, too." Before that could even sink in he added, "She didn't tell me anything about what happened to you. Just that you might benefit from my help."

"Oh. Uh, no. She didn't tell me. Makes sense. Look...there's this place a few blocks away. It's not too far from my place. Their food is pretty good, and I'm pretty sure the servers talk shit about you in Chinese when you order."

He snorted. "I could tell you for certain, if you wanted."

You shook your head in surprise. "Somehow I feel like I should've expected that you know Chinese. Is there any language you don't know?"

"Swahili." He answered seriously.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all like it! Apologies for the wait.

Bucky, as it turned out, wasn't lying about the Chinese. He spoke it fluently, only stopping to ask you what you wanted in English. As the server walked away you could hear him mumbling to himself in Chinese. You raised a brow at him expectantly. 

"No, he's not going to talk shit if he thinks I can hear him. Not knowing that I understand." He laughed. 

You wrinkled your nose at him. "Shoulda figured that. I was still kind of hoping he said something rude, though."

Bucky snorted. "The first time I ordered in English. I eat a lot. As he was walking away he called me a fat, greedy American."

Your jaw dropped open at that. One because you hadn't actually thought about how much he ate, and two...there wasn't an ounce of fat on Bucky that you could see. Christ, even his abs had abs. "But you're built like a brick-shit-house."

Bucky laughed at that, sending you a wink. "Doesn't matter. You'll see why when the food comes. And 'fat' is one I'm okay with. Not the worst name I've been called."

You winced a little, as you had forgotten for a moment who he was exactly. "Does that...I mean...is it any easier? The whole world knowing?"

Bucky canted his head for a moment to give it thought. "Yes and no. I don't expect everyone to view me as a victim, like Steve, but in the beginning people definitely weren't shy sharing how they felt."

You felt a deep pang of sympathy for him. It was hard to imagine trying to recover and heal, with people verbally attacking you. Wasn't hard to imagine the things he'd been called.

"Is that part of it?"

Confusion rolled through you as you fiddled with your chopsticks. "Part of what?"

Bucky took a deep breath and leaned back. "Is my past making it worse? I don't want to scare you more than help you. I'm sure we could get Steve or Natasha to train you, if you're more comfortable."

"No!" You were surprised by how quickly and vehemently you responded. "I want you." His eyebrow raised the slightest bit. "To train me. Want you to train me." You were almost certain your face was a few shades of red, warmth crawling at your neck and face.

There was no way Bucky could have missed it. But he simply smiled softly. "Okay." 

You blew out a slow breath. "It's not you, really. It's everyone. After what happened..." You lifted your shoulders in a shrug, not really sure you wanted to share details he didn't already know. 

He seemed to understand. "You don't have to. I just wanted to be sure. But if you ever do want to talk about it, I'll listen."

There was a rush of appreciation towards him, for not trying to coerce you into explaining. Thankfully you were spared from an awkward reply as the food arrived. 

He also wasn't kidding about the food. The server reappeared, rolling a tray of plates toward you. He parked the cart nearby and grabbed another table, pulling it across the floor to 'connect' it to your table. 

You raised an eyebrow at Bucky who merely shrugged. The few items that belonged to you were set down first. Then came Bucky's. There were a good ten plates for the super soldier, each with a different menu item on it.

Once the server disappeared again you were still staring at his array of food. "Can you really eat all that?"

Again he laughed, his own chopsticks between his long fingers. "Doll, I can eat much more than this. Just don't tell Steve." He joked, as if there would be a punishment for him eating so much Chinese food. 

"Your secret is safe with me, Sergeant." You saluted him with a small laugh at yourself.

The ordeal went much smoother than you expected. There wasn't the pressure of being inside the tower, or massive amounts of people you didn't know. Being closer to home helped as well.

Once you stopped thinking so much it was easy to relax into pleasant conversation. Which you were thankful for. You weren't sure how you were meant to train with him if you couldn't relax and trust that he wouldn't hurt you.

He'd insisted on paying and you let him. You weren't one to argue about free food. When the bill was paid and the food gone there was nothing left to do but walk home.

Outside the door the two of you paused, his hands shoved into his pockets as you fiddled with your bag. 

"Uh...sure you don't want me to walk you?" He canted his head at you. 

"Yeah, it's not too far from here. But thank you. And, ah, thanks for lunch as well."

He smiled a little sheepishly. "Least I could do."

Silence loomed over you once more, that slight awkward tension that seemed so hard to escape these days. "I'll see you at the next session.." You decided with a nod. He offered one in return, smiling just a little wider.

You offered him a small wave before starting off on your walk home. Though you'd be lying if you'd said you didn't look over your shoulder here and there to be sure he wasn't following you home. 

Back at your apartment you closed the door and slid the locks into place, resting your back against the wood. There was a strange pang in your chest, the place feeling oddly more empty than usual. With a sigh you pushed off the door and dropped your bag. 

Hoping that a shower might make you feel a little better you made a beeline for your bedroom, picking out your comfiest pajamas from the dresser. Mentally you made a plan to curl up with your Netflix and a carton of ice cream. There was bound to still be some in the freezer. 

Not that it was much different a plan than any other day, but the routine was always calming. The odd feeling in your chest was probably just anxiety at having interrupted your own routine. Getting back on track would go a long way toward fixing it, or so you hoped.


	5. Chapter 5

Sweat poured down your face, your heart leaping and galloping in your chest as you came to a stop. Beside you Bucky was biting his lip, as if to hold in a small chuckle. He hadn't even broken a sweat in the two mile run.

Blissfully he'd made sure the field was empty for the run, wanting to see what your endurance level was like. It really wasn't fair how sexy he was without even trying, in gray sweats and a dark blue t-shirt that did nothing to hide the muscles beneath.

"That was good, Y/N. The more we do this the faster you'll get. And not as....breathless."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Laugh it up, soldier. This might be the only time you see me run." Thankfully there was a bench nearby for you to collapse onto, your head tipped back toward the sky.

"My therapist thinks I should tell you what happened." 

He choked on his water, coughing hard for a moment. It made you feel a little better about being so winded yourself. "And what do you think?" He sat beside you with a raised brow. "You don't have to tell me. Not until you're ready."

You couldn't meet his eyes, the storm cloud blue-gray would be filled with a tenderness that would make this much harder. 

"I think she's probably right. I know your story, only seems fair that you know mine too." 

He tipped his own head back to look up at the bright blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds. "The difference is I didn't have a choice, Scrappy. You do. If you don't want me to know I don't have to know." 

You let that sink in for a moment, trying to pull all of your determination into a steel rod through you. "He wasn't someone I knew, not really. He was a friend of friends you know? One of those guys that was just...average." 

Clearing your throat you soldiered on. "He always seemed chivalrous and kind, so I let him walk me home one night." You could practically hear the way your footsteps had echoed on the pavement. 

"He ah...he tried to..." Tears pricked at your eyes, your fingers tracing over the jagged scar beneath your collarbone. Bucky's eyes hardened with anger for you, his flesh hand settling carefully onto your shoulder.

"I fought back. It made him angry and he....I don't know where he got the knife. But he stabbed me, to try and get me to keep still I guess. He panicked when he saw the blood and..." you shrugged, hating the way it made your breath hitch. "He left me to die." You finished quietly. 

You didn't realize how hard your hands were shaking until his flesh one slipped down to grab hold of yours. Your fingers wound tightly with his, gripping his hand in a way that would have been painfully tight to any non-enhanced person.

"I'm sorry that happened to you." He said quietly. "What happened to the guy?"

You shrugged a shoulder upwards. "Don't know. He uhm....he ran after. He hasn't...they never..."

Sensing your rising panic he gripped your hand a bit tighter, helping to ground you in the present. "Do you know his name?" There was a glint in his eyes that you couldn't quite put name to. Before you even had the chance to properly decipher it, you could hear footsteps crunching over the gravel path nearby.

Bucky did too and tensed immediately. He whipped around to see a dark skinned man approaching at a brisk jog, a smile stretched over his lips. "M'sorry, he's not supposed to be here. Stay here, please."

He cut the man off just feet from you, anxiety chewing at your stomach and prickling at your neck. You didn't have to strain hard to hear what they were saying.

"Bird-brain is supposed to be a nickname. Not a literal description. The fuck are you doing, Wilson?" 

The man held his hands up. "Woah, hey, Terminator. I just came to say hi and finally meet Y/N." You tensed more at that. It was weird to hear your name from an Avenger's mouth that wasn't Bucky. Logically you knew they probably knew your name. But it was still odd, and new, and made your anxiety spike up a little.

Bucky's arm whirred as he tensed a little more. "Yeah, well, I have private access to the field today. A fact I made abundantly clear. So I ask again, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

The rest of what was said you didn't hear, their voices too quiet for you to catch even with their close proximity. You were relieved, however, when Sam left without much argument.

Bucky returned shortly after he left, his hands stuffed into his pockets. "M'sorry about him. He's just nosy, but harmless. I swear, I requested everyone stay off the field." He cleared his throat, looking bashful. As if you were about to yell at him.

Instead you were grateful he'd taken care of it. And hadn't made you introduce yourself to Sam before you were ready.

"It's alright. I tr- uh, I believe you." You nodded, standing slowly from the bench. "We're about done for the day anyway, aren't we?"

Bucky nodded. "Still, I am sorry. It won't happen again." He dropped his eyes to his feet, lip caught between his teeth.

"Seriously, Bucky, I'm fine. Ah..I've gotta get my bag from the training room. If....if you want you can walk me home." 

You wanted to slap yourself and take the words back immediately, until Bucky flashed you a crooked grin. 

"I'd like that." With that he fell into step with you, back to the tower. The walk was quiet back to the compound, for which you were a little thankful. Admittedly, it had also been your therapists idea to let him walk you home. That was a detail you didn't need to share in your nervousness. You only hoped you didn't regret it.


End file.
